


for a spell

by alohacowboy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Country boy Merlin, Drifter Gwaine, M/M, Modern era - Pastoral setting, POV Outsider, Reincarnation, Romance, priest arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alohacowboy/pseuds/alohacowboy
Summary: gwaine's outsider pov on merlin and arthur.





	for a spell

Gwaine watched the rain pouring down as Merlin played his guitar out on the restaurant's sheltered veranda.

Ealdor was a tiny little place out in the sticks and that was the main reason Gwaine had bought the restaurant. It was one little room with a stove and some tables. The walls were barely even wattle and daub. It had a veranda outside where Gwaine should have put a sign up but the veranda was a magical little place all on its own with lumber floors that were chewed up by the weather and dirt. Gwaine decided then that such raw grit added character. Country charm that no sign could ever do justice by.

What _really_ made that tiny veranda a piece of beauty was in the mornings. Merlin would sit on the veranda with Gwaine's guitar playing whatever it was that popped into his head.

Gwaine knew how to play one song and not very well. He only had it because he owned a few things and those few things he’d tried to keep a hold of. The guitar was something from his father. He inherited most things from his father. Mainly his penchant for fighting but also for making good food. 

Now, Merlin was beautiful when he played. He was fluid and relaxed, more so than any other time Gwaine's ever seen him. It was in these moments where Gwaine saw someone beyond the man who stumbled into his life and never left.

It could be blistering hot and Merlin would go sit and sweat and play and wait. Before any hungry patrons happened by, Merlin would have his feet cocked up out front and he’d pluck whatever tune popped into his head. Gwaine never knows the song. He’d never been much into music. Always been cooking. Maybe whistling.

Merlin didn’t sing though. That might be Gwaine's fault. He should have had some tact. His father _had_ raised him to be a genteel boy with manners.

But really, he thinks his father would have been struck dumb by the sound of Merlin's voice- the boy did try, though, Gwaine'd give him that.

And Gwaine liked Merlin very much. He was a good friend. He was skilled with a knife and could cut up dozens of vegetable in minutes without complaining once. He had the quickest hands and it made Gwaine feel guilty that such talent was wasted in the backwoods of Ealdor. Though he tried to tell Merlin that he was a remarkable man, he would not listen.

Merlin was indeed a stubborn arse. But he was good company. These days, positivity was what Gwaine tried to live by.

For the first time in a long while Gwaine was happy. He was cooking and he had customers that liked what he made. He even had a friend who made the world seem like a better place.

But- as with most things- Gwaine only had a short spell of being content in all things.

It was one of those slow days where Gwaine didn’t really need much help. The customers were few, what with the rain. Merlin had done all he could before he went and took his seat outside and strummed whatever tune he had on his mind. He was waiting for the priest. Father Arthur.

Gwaine's not been much for religion himself. He had figured Merlin to be like him.

But the look in Merlin's eyes whenever the priest came by said more than Gwaine thought Merlin could articulate. Words were never a man’s best skill. Merlin looked at the priest in ways Gwaine had been brought up to only ever look at women. He didn’t think less of Merlin for it. Father Arthur didn’t seem to either.

His eyes were as drunk as Merlin's.

Father Arthur was handsome. More so than a priest should ever be. He wasn’t overly kind. Didn’t seem to like Gwaine all too much. His voice though, well, Gwaine could see the appeal there.

That was most likely why Merlin liked Father Arthur.

When Father Arthur finally did come, he was still wearing his collar. He was soaked and didn’t seem bothered. Like usual, Father Arthur only had eyes for Merlin. He never ate any of Gwaine's food.

He would take his seat next to Merlin and the two of them would sit together while Merlin found a rhythm and Father Arthur thought of a song.

It was a routine. Never changed much. Gwaine tried not to think that Father Arthur would one day steal Merlin away. That maybe he’d drop the collar, whisk Merlin off his feet and carry him to some city where they can sing and make each other happy.

Gwaine didn’t think he could stop Merlin from going. Not that he’d want to. That could be the problem. Despite how little his little place was, Gwaine couldn’t really imagine a day without Merlin plucking at his guitar and trying to sing.

He sang terribly, off-note at every turn, but Gwaine appreciated the effort. Father Arthur always seemed to brighten on the rare occasion Merlin would sing along.

Gwaine's customers, though, did not.

For now it was good. Father Arthur had a nice voice. A low rumble. The songs were old, Gwaine knew that much. Knew that Merlin was quick with his fingers and played with the tone Father Arthur set. 

Gwaine turned off the radio and listened to Father Arthur's baritone sing along with Merlin's slow and purposeful strum of his guitar. The few customers he had hummed along and Gwaine almost wished he knew the song too.

The veranda was rundown in every way imaginable, his little place was very little, the storm was just beginning to howl, but right then it was magical.


End file.
